


Threading the Needle

by Unlimited_Siggy



Category: The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Bottom!Crozier, Comfort, Dom/sub, Hand Jobs, M/M, Top!Jopson, Uniform Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-15 07:25:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18069098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unlimited_Siggy/pseuds/Unlimited_Siggy
Summary: The magnetic pull of the Captain’s uniform coupled with the opportunity before him was impossible to ignore; it was now or never. Thomas grasped the front of the newly repaired coat and pulled it tight around his body. He smoothed out the loose fabric, turned around to face the window, and examined his reflection. He could pretend, at least for a moment what it might be like to be an officer of the British Royal Navy.“Jopson,whatin the world are you doing?”





	Threading the Needle

**Author's Note:**

> Set after the winter at Beechey Island (1845-1846) but before the events of the series proper.

Two bells had rung since the beginning of the middle watch, yet Thomas was wide awake and still hard at work in a corner of the captain’s cabin. The young steward sat beneath the only lit oil lamp, his body hunched over dark blue fabric while he worked diligently with needle and thread. There was always something to keep Captain Crozier’s steward busy—a shirt which required mending or a sock that needed darning.

Tonight, it was Captain Crozier’s tailcoat that needed his attention.

The hem of the left sleeve had begun to unravel and a decorative button had fallen away during the Captain’s return from dinner on the _Erebus_. Friction between the tailcoat and the inside of the Irishman’s frock coat was likely to blame for the loss. Luckily, there were enough replacements on board to keep the tailcoat in presentable shape for a good many seasons though Thomas hoped they’d spent their last winter locked in ice.

Compared to the other officer’s coats, Captain Crozier’s tailcoat was older, well-worn, and although tidy, revealed its age with its weathered buttons and patched elbows. The Captain of the HMS _Terror_ was not a frivolous man, and likely had seen no need to replace a perfectly serviceable garment especially when it had served him well-enough on his previous expedition in the Antarctic.

Thomas broke the dark blue thread between his teeth, set the needle aside, and held the tailcoat to the stove grate for a closer look. The buttons, none of which were original, caught the soft glow of the embers though it had been years since any resembled those on Sir John’s coat. Quite honestly, they looked more like the dull pewter buttons of Mr. Blanky’s, or even his own uniform rather than that of an officer.

Satisfied with his efforts, Thomas smiled. He believed Captain Crozier would likewise be pleased with the repairs.

Ready for a good night’s sleep, Thomas gathered up his supplies and hung the tailcoat on the back of a chair at the captain’s table. The garment would be inspected first thing in the morning before the Captain went about his day. The last task of the evening was to snuff out the oil lamp, but before Thomas had the opportunity to do so, he caught a glimpse of the captain’s table in one of the windows.

Just behind him, where he’d laid it, was the tailcoat which looked almost black in the darkness. Like a siren’s call, the coat sang to him. Thomas ran his tongue along his bottom lip and furrowed his brow. He’d always wondered what it would be like to wear the uniform of a commissioned officer. It would be a lie to say he’d never thought of it; still, Thomas had never scrounged up the courage to don any garment under his care.

There was a touch of perversion to the idea—wearing the Captain’s uniform without his consent. The act was akin to sleeping in the man’s bed or reading his personal letters. It was an invasion of privacy, Thomas recognized this, but this knowledge did not diminish the throbbing impulse to do the deed.

Thomas turned to look at the sliding door of Captain Crozier’s bed cabin. The Captain was asleep, as he should be, along with nearly all the souls who made the _Terror_ their home. Outside the crackle of the fire and the howl of the wind, the only sounds Thomas heard were the gentle snoring of those asleep down the passageways and the periodic shuffling above him from the men on watch.

The magnetic pull of the Captain’s uniform coupled with the opportunity before him was impossible to ignore; it was now or never. Against his better judgement, Thomas removed his coat and draped it on the back of a chair before he grabbed the tailcoat. He slipped one arm into a narrow sleeve followed by the other and pulled on the heavy garment. Once properly positioned, Thomas grasped the front of the newly repaired coat and pulled it tight around his body. He smoothed out the loose fabric, turned around to face the window, and examined his pale reflection in one of the small rectangular panes.

The tailcoat was large, too large for his thin frame and he didn’t have the same girth of the Captain to fill it. Thomas straightened his back and rest both arms against his lower back just as he’d seen Captain Crozier and the other officers do time and time again. It was a dignified pose oft done in the company of other gentlemen and men of rank. The young steward raised his chin and gave his reflection a curt nod of approval before he allowed himself a polished smile. He could pretend, at least for a moment what it might be like to be an officer of the British Royal Navy.

“Jopson, _what_ in the world are you doing?”

A look of abject terror fell upon Thomas’ face the second he realized he’d been caught. The mortified steward whipped around to face his superior, mouth agape, unable to form any semblance of an intelligible thought, let alone voice it.

“Ah- C-captain! I d-didn’t hear you c-come in, sir,” stammered Thomas after his senses had returned, “I-I was just—”

“You were jus’ _what_ , Thomas?” probed Captain Crozier, his voice impossibly monotone given his steward’s unfortunate circumstance. The half-dressed Irishman stood in the backlit doorway of his bed cabin, one arm above him, a hand atop the doorframe while the other held a glass of spirits.

Thomas had no answer—there was nothing he could say to save himself. Every Sunday, instead of delivering a sermon at Divine Service, Captain Crozier read the chapter on Discipline from the _Queen's Regulations and Admiralty Instructions_. His actions would _surely_ be considered insubordinate and would warrant some form of corporal punishment. It was his first infraction but was severe enough to cause anxiety over the potential severity of said punishment.

A hard lump formed at the base of Thomas’ throat and threatened to suffocate him though he managed to force it down with some effort. Mouth dry, he watched with a dismal sense of dread as the Captain crossed the cabin and made his way towards him. Each step the man took was like a nail in Thomas’ coffin. When his superior was but a foot away, Crozier stopped and unexpectedly reached out to touch the inner seam of the tailcoat. Thomas glanced down and watched as the Captain’s fingers slid up the hem of the garment and stopped just below the decorative buttons.

“It suits you.”

“…pardon?” questioned Thomas after a moment of silence. The steward’s brows knit together, unsure whether he’d understood Captain Crozier or whether his eyes deceived him when the older man proceeded to do up the buttons.

“You cut a fine figure in uniform; Fitzjames would have a run for his money if he wanted to keep the title of handsomest officer in the Royal Navy,” mused Crozier while a slip of a smile tugged at one corner of his mouth.

“You’re too kind, sir,” replied Thomas, perplexed by the Captain’s leniency. The older man’s reaction was not at all what he’d expected, consequently, Thomas was unsure how to respond in turn.

“Nonsense, I speak the truth,” stated Captain Crozier, who promptly finished whatever remained in his glass. Once empty, the Irishman turned round and beckoned Thomas to follow him to his bed cabin where he produced a mirror.

Thomas took the looking-glass and held it at arms’ length. Although the tailcoat was ill-fitted to his body, Thomas nonetheless felt a jolt of delight course through him when he caught his reflection in the lamplight. He looked every bit an officer, like Lieutenant Little or Irving. Before they’d left port, Lady Jane had commissioned daguerreotypes of the officers aboard the _Erebus_. If only he could have had one taken and sent home to family—his brother would have found the picture most amusing.

The sound of liquid being poured drew Thomas from his fantasy. When he looked up, he noted the Captain had poured himself another glass of whiskey. Unlike the teetotaling Sir John, Captain Crozier did not abstain, quite the opposite—he was inclined to indulge.

“Is something troubling you, sir?” asked Thomas, having observed a shadow pass over the Captain’s face.

Crozier sighed and leaned against the bed railing; his shoulders hung heavy with the weight of that which bothered him.

“The more apt question is what doesn’t trouble me,” remarked the older man truthfully, and punctuated his statement with a dry laugh Crozier used when something was particularly humourless. “This expedition has been taxing, very taxing, and I’m afraid I find myself alone with scarcely a friend amongst officer or seaman. I have no lack of anxieties, quite the contrary, I have an overabundance of them, and unlike Sir John, or Commander Fitzjames, I find not an ounce of solace in the fact there lay but a few hundred miles between us and the Passage.”

Thomas was no stranger to Captain Crozier’s melancholy after he bore witness to it while serving the Irishman in the Antarctic. The depth of the Captain’s despair on their present voyage, however, seemed to come from a different place altogether. It manifested itself most noticeably in the older man’s cynical comments which sometimes verged on defeatism though his dedication to his duties, not to mention to his men, never faltered.

As Captain of the HMS _Terror_ , Crozier was responsible for ensuring the safety of all sixty-one souls aboard his ship and, God forbid, if anything happened to Sir John he would be liable for the success or failure of the expedition in its entirety. The responsibility placed upon his shoulders was not insignificant though Thomas had heard Captain Crozier hadn’t been the first pick of the Admiralty as Sir John’s second. There were other rumours, too, as to the cause of the Captain’s noticeable poor humour though Thomas cast no judgement.

“…some nights I find myself in want of comfort with nothing but my own thoughts to soothe me,” muttered Crozier, voice barely above a whisper.

Their conversation had taken an unexpected, and sombre turn, but before Thomas could speak, the Captain beat him to it.

“Pay no attention to my self-centred wallowing,” grumbled Crozier, critical of himself, after which he threw back his head and drank his spirits with a grimace. “These anxieties are mine, and mine alone to bear, I have no right to burden you with them...it’s disgraceful, and not befitting any Captain.”

“Not at all, sir,” countered Thomas, voice firm and unwavering, “in fact, I consider us lucky to have a man such as yourself as our Captain.”

Before he continued, the steward returned the mirror to its rightful place and did the same with the empty glass he took from Crozier’s hand.

“Once, on an icy winter morning, I watched as you guided our beaten and battered ship through the narrowest of gaps between sheer ice cliffs while under cover of darkness and in the roughest of seas. While men collapsed around you, frozen in terror, you were as steady and as calm as a millpond even in the face of what seemed like certain death. There isn’t any doubt in my mind you saved us that night as well as countless other nights during those years at sea. Is that not action befitting a Captain?”

There was no room for argument, Thomas made sure of it and resolutely stood, ready to quash any challenge the Captain might voice.

Having sensed the finality of his steward’s words, Captain Crozier nodded his head, reigned to agree and said, “you flatter me unnecessarily, I do only what’s required of me but thank you for your vote of confidence nonetheless.”

Crozier pushed himself off the railing and hovered close, hardly more than a hair’s breadth away, and brushed a lock of hair from Thomas’ face. It was a tender gesture though its familiarity paled in comparison when next the Captain laid his hand upon the steward’s cheek and gently caressed it. Another might have pulled away, shocked by the implication of such physical contact, but Thomas remained and even leaned into Crozier’s touch.

“I am eternally grateful for your steadfast service. There’s not another soul on this ship, _either_ ship for that matter, that has sailed as long as you have with me,” reflected Captain Crozier. He paused to give the young man a tender smile, and said, “words cannot begin to express how much I cherish our friendship, my dear Tom.”

_…my dear Tom._

It was a touching sentiment, likely fueled by the ingestion of alcohol, however, it struck Thomas most profoundly nonetheless. Neither he nor Captain Crozier had ever voiced the depth of the bond between them. Over the years he’d served as the man’s steward, Thomas had come to admire and respect the Irishman from Banbridge for his dignity, integrity, and decisiveness.

Thomas extended his hand and placed it atop Crozier’s warm and weathered one, he returned the man’s gentle smile and said with deep sincerity and affection, 

“if you are ever in need of comfort, then please, let me be that comfort just as you have been mine.”

Moved by the profound declaration, Crozier stepped forward and encircled Thomas in his weary arms. This gesture prompted Thomas to wrap his arms around the Irishman’s chest and hold him soundly against his body. Eyes closed, the younger man pressed his face into the crook of Crozier’s collarbone while the Captain’s jaw came to rest against his temple. The two men stood almost motionless, save for a gentle sway caused by the rocking of the ship in the icy sea.

In all his life Thomas couldn’t recall a more meaningful and intimate embrace.

When Captain Crozier finally pulled back, his gaze fell to Thomas’ mouth and lingered with such heartfelt longing that without a word, or a second thought, Thomas lurched forward to capture Crozier’s lips in a fervent kiss.

Rough, but not without its pleasure, it became immediately apparent this was _not_ what the Captain had expected when he reeled backward to break the connection. Silent as the grave, Captain Crozier stood against the bed railing breathless and flushed though whether this was from overwhelming desire or embarrassment Thomas did not know. Crozier’s eyes were wide, unfocused, while his fingertips brushed the spot where Thomas’ lips had touched him.

Concerned he’d grossly misunderstood the situation, the younger man opened his mouth to speak but was promptly silenced by Crozier’s lips.

While at first chaste, the second kiss turned into a rushed and heady affair as if the men were two lovestruck youths taking advantage of their all too brief shore leave. Crozier’s hand slid up Thomas’ back and entangled itself in the steward’s hair while the other grasped the smaller man about the waist. Pressed snuggly between the younger man’s legs, was Crozier’s thigh which slid forward and thrust itself against Thomas’ erection. The friction between his swollen prick and the coarse fabric that separated their bodies was tantalizing on a most maddening level. With fistfuls of the Captain’s waistcoat, Thomas fixed himself flush with the eager Irishman and forced himself further into the Captain’s personal space.

In search of skin to suck, Crozier released his grasp on Thomas’ waist and removed the young man’s neckerchief to expose the soft flesh beneath it. The caress of the Captain’s tongue as he lapped the sensitive spot behind Thomas’ ear goaded the younger man into further action. Thomas dragged a palm down the Irishman’s broad chest and continued lower until he reached the man’s close-fitted trousers. With the tip of his finger, he traced the outline of the Captain’s erection, careful not to touch the organ itself until he felt Crozier push up against his hand.

Then, and only then, did Thomas reward _his_ Captain.

“Thomas,” gasped Crozier, after his steward squeezed his cock and drew a satisfyingly desperate moan from the Irishman.

Enthralled by the thinly veiled plea, Thomas pulled back to look Captain Crozier in the eyes. Half-lidded and heavy with desire, the older man practically implored Thomas to finish what he’d started though not in so many words. Who was he to deny him? The sight of his Captain in desperate _need_ of his attention and affection stoked a fire within Thomas which had previously laid dormant. It was well within the realm of possibility that his fantasies might now become reality—all Thomas needed to do was claim them.

Compelled to act before he lost his nerve, Thomas pressed his mouth against the shell of Crozier’s ear and growled low with authority, “is that any way to address your _Captain_?”

Taken aback, Captain Crozier took a breath but hesitated to speak while he considered his answer. His gaze fell to the tailcoat Thomas still wore and lingered for a moment before the tip of his tongue darted out to lick his mottled lips.

“No, sir.”

“You’d best remember it’s Captain Jopson from now on, is that understood?”

“Yes, Captain,” replied Crozier, voice husky.

“ _Good_ , see that you do.”

In a show of unexpected strength, Thomas pulled the older man away from the railing and forced him to sit with his legs splayed open on the only chair in the bed cabin. There was hardly enough room for one person to sit, let alone two, yet this did not stop Thomas who sat down on Crozier’s thighs with one leg on either side of his person. To keep the younger man from falling back, Crozier seized hold of Thomas’ shoulder and upper thigh and dragged him closer to stabilize them both.

Thomas stifled a laugh and rocked forward to capture Crozier’s mouth in a hungry kiss which caught the seated man off-guard. When Captain Crozier gasped in surprise, his steward took advantage and deepened the kiss with his possessive and domineering tongue. The taste of whiskey, while faded in strength, was strong enough that Thomas considered pouring himself a glass. _Later_ , he thought while his hands busied themselves between Crozier’s trousers which he unbuttoned to free the Irishman’s needy prick.

With a hand wrapped around Captain Crozier’s cock, Thomas stroked him slowly, methodically, all in an effort to tease out more of the Captain’s increasingly egregious sounds.

“There now—isn’t that better,” goaded the young steward who nipped at Crozier’s swollen lower lip and grazed it playfully between his teeth.

The Irishman nodded his head, breathless and seemingly unable to speak.

“I’ve half a mind to free myself, but it is rather chilly in here even with the two of us seated so close together. How shall I keep warm? With your hand maybe, or what about that mouth of yours?”

The thought of Captain Crozier sucking the length of his arousal made Thomas acutely aware of how uncomfortably raw his cock felt pressed against the coarse fabric of his trousers. The garment stuck to the head of his prick and pushed up in want, but there was uncertainty in Crozier’s face—perhaps he’d made too bold a suggestion. As far as Thomas knew, the Captain was not the buggering-sort, but the older man didn’t pull away or voice his objection.

“I’ve made up my mind,” declared Thomas after a lengthy pause which left Crozier anguishing in anticipation. “Your hand will do fine, for now. Oh, but don’t fret Francis, your mouth will also be put to good use. Now, would you be so kind as to assist me?”

Crozier shuddered, and replied, “yes, sir, of course.”

There was a noticeable tremor in the Irishman’s hand, but he did not allow it to impede his work to free the steward’s equally swollen member from its woolen confines. Free at last, though not for long, Crozier’s calloused hand wrapped around the base of Thomas’ erection and mirrored the manner in which the younger man fondled him.

“Oh yes, that’s _much_ better.”

With a quiet sigh, Thomas relaxed his hand momentarily while he adjusted his grip. The Captain’s rhythm faltered when the younger rolled his wrist and focused his attention on the head of Crozier’s prick. Thomas’ thumb swept around the edge of the Captain’s helmet and then up and over the wet slit.

“Good _God_ ,” Crozier said and he gulped for air. The chair groaned under the strain of shifting weight when the Captain’s hips jerked in search of greater contact.

“God? I rather like that, but really Francis, Captain works just as well,” hummed the younger man with a smile so contagious it spread instantly to Captain Crozier. Thomas chuckled and bit his lip while he leaned back to admire the man seated beneath him. He raised his free hand to Crozier’s face and paid special attention to his parted lips. “Now that your hand is occupied let’s put your mouth to use, too. I want you to tell me about one of your fantasies with me, what did I do to you, and be honest.”

Unsure where to start, Crozier scoffed and stuck out his tongue to wet his lips. Considering the turn of events, Thomas was sure the Captain had fantasized about him on at least one occasion.

While the Irishman gathered his thoughts, Thomas’ thumb passed the threshold of his mouth and swept across his teeth before it came to rest on his molars. To answer, the older man would have to talk around it. Captain Crozier’s face flushed from his cheeks to his ears and his cock twitched; he didn’t need to voice his desire to continue their naughty game when his body did it for him.

“…first, you bound me, sir.”

“I bound you?”

“Yes, sir,” he said, and swallowed dryly. “You tied my wrists behind my back so as to keep me from touching myself. An’ then—then you covered my eyes with a piece of cloth an’ forced me t’kneel on the carpet in front of you.”

“What next,” he hushed and inched forward to grab hold of both their pricks. Thomas squeezed their stiff members together and pumped his hand quickly, the job having been made easier by sweat and other fluids.

“Next, you pushed my knees apart with your polished boot an’ used more rope to secure my ankles to my thighs,” explained Crozier. The words tumbled hastily from his mouth; when he was finished the Irish Captain pulled Thomas forward so he could rest his forehead against the younger man’s shoulder for support. “You tore open my waistcoat an’ ripped free my cravat, that’s when you used your mouth on me…kissing, biting, sucking— Oh, _Christ_ , _yes_ , jus’ like that, sir!”

Just as Crozier described, Thomas kissed and sucked his way from the shell of Irishman’s ear down along his exposed throat. Meanwhile, the motion between their legs became hurried, though not frantic—Thomas remained in control even as he felt the waves of heat bloom and swell from his abdomen.

“Your tongue, God, _your tongue_ ,” gasped Crozier with a breathless laugh, “you licked patterns down my chest an’ when you reached the top of my trousers you told me I’d ‘ave to _beg_ for my release… and I did, sir. As my reward, you pushed my face into the carpet, unbuttoned my trousers, an’ took the entire length of my manhood in your mouth.”

Thomas slid his thumb over the tip of the Irishman’s head and into the droplets of seed which pooled there. With Crozier’s gaze locked on to his movements, the smartly dressed steward brought his fingers to his mouth and licked clean the sticky appendages. Both men were shaky, and out of breath, however, Thomas was not finished and he returned to his ministrations with added vigor.

“Oh _Jesus Christ_ , Jopson, Captain! Any longer an’ I’ll—”

The toll of bell above their deck interpreted Crozier mid-thought and caused the man to jolt in the chair. His body tensed, and he immediately forced his face back against Thomas’ shoulder to stifle his lewd moans while he spent his seed in the younger man’s hand. This, as well as the thought of having been heard by the surgeon or one of the officers in the wardroom, pushed Thomas over the edge and he came hard with a shudder.

The two men sat quietly, locked together in carnal bliss until Thomas regained enough of his senses and peeled away from Captain Crozier’s chest. While tired, the older man also appeared satisfied, and if Thomas’ suspicions were correct, he expected the man would sleep well tonight. Any anxieties about the expedition seemed to have been banished from the Captain’s mind, and for that the younger man was thankful.

Thomas reached into Crozier’s waistcoat, retrieved a handkerchief, and cleaned themselves off with the linen cloth. When at last they were proper, he extracted himself from Crozier’s arms, slid off the man’s thighs, and gingerly placed one foot and then the other on the floor. The Captain brushed and straightened the front of his waistcoat before he followed suit and stood up from the chair which he pushed against the folding table.

In preparation to depart, Thomas removed the Captain’s rumpled tailcoat and draped it over the crook of his arm. The dark navy fabric, once smooth, was now creased in multiple spots not to mention wet upon the cuff and sleeve. Thomas cleared his throat and said, “I will take your coat with me, sir, so that I may launder it.”

Crozier nodded his head silently and poured himself a glass of whiskey.

“If you are ever in need of comfort, remember that I am most happy to provide it, sir. Goodnight, and pleasant dreams,” he said with a hint of a smile and bowed his head.

“...and to you as well, Jopson,” replied Captain Crozier in an amused but distant tone of voice. The Irishman then raised the glass of spirits to his lips but before he managed a taste it was snatched from his hand to his great surprise.

“Much obliged, sir,” quipped Thomas, a cheeky glint in his eye as he winked. He lifted the glass, took a long drawn out drink, then handed the tumbler back to the bemused Irishman. Coat in arm, Thomas turned about face and left the bed cabin. The sound of the door as it rolled shut signaled to Thomas he was now alone with his thoughts. Light-headed and even a touch giddy, Thomas doused the oil lamp and collected his things before he exited the great cabin and headed down the passageway.

Thomas couldn’t believe what had happened, but he knew it wasn’t a fluke. No, in fact, the young steward expected this was just the start of something new and exciting and altogether wilder than his or his Captain’s dreams. He was, after all, Captain Crozier's _dear Tom_.


End file.
